


Night Shift

by laiqualaurelote



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Desk Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Handcuffs, Light Bondage, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:22:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29559048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laiqualaurelote/pseuds/laiqualaurelote
Summary: Phryne, as a rule, does not like to be bound. The lack of control irks her; she prefers to be the one doing the tying. Then again, if there is one thing she has learnt since she met Jack Robinson, it is that given the right circumstances - or the right person - there is no rule she won’t break, even her own.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 84





	Night Shift

“If you want me to stop,” he says, closing the handcuffs around her wrists, “say ‘possum’.”

“I shan’t want you to stop.” She runs a finger around the edge of the metal, cool against her wrists.

“Nonetheless. Let me hear you say it, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne purses her lips at him. “Possum.”

“All right,” he says. Then abruptly he spins her and presses her up against the wall of his office, her wrists held tightly in his grip. She feels the shiver go up her spine.

“How’s that?” he rasps against her ear.

“Oh yes,” says Phryne. “I think I like that very much.”

*

Phryne, as a rule, does not like to be bound. The lack of control irks her; she prefers to be the one doing the tying. Then again, if there is one thing she has learnt since she met Jack Robinson, it is that given the right circumstances - or the right person - there is no rule she won’t break, even her own.

“Another,” she breathes. “Jack, I need another.”

“No. You can think about that the next time you withhold evidence from me.”

Her bound hands scrabble for purchase on the surface of his desk. “I always give it up to you eventually.”

“Eventually,” says Jack. He crooks his finger inside her; it draws a tiny keening noise from her throat. “You’re very mouthy, for someone clapped in irons.”

“I’m a better class of conversationalist than most of your arrests and you know it.”

“Hm.” He has, she thinks, found her - what was it she’d called it? Her internal device. “You crossed town with that in you on the off-chance I was having a quiet night shift?”

“I believe in being prepared for all eventualities,” she says, and then her breath catches as he hitches her leg over his shoulder and replaces finger with tongue. “Oh,  _ Inspector _ .”

Jack looks up at her, the severity of his expression belied by the sheen of her on his upper lip. She’s dizzy just from the sight of it. “If you do not keep quiet, Miss Fisher, I will be forced to gag you.”

“Well,” says Phryne, ever enterprising, “there are better ways to shut me up.”

*

“So that worked,” says Jack. “I’ll make a note.”

Phryne, in response, adds a hint of teeth as she swallows him down and listens for the sharp intake of his breath. She glances up to see that he has tipped his head back, his mouth opening silently. His hands clench on the armrests of his chair. She hoards such tiny signs of wreckage like a dragon.

She bends to her task, ignoring the strain in her jaw. It isn’t as easy without hands, but she has never shied from a challenge. And she has always been good at this, has made men fall apart with less, got on her knees and watched them crumble from on high. Oh, but this one is making her work for it. She didn’t wear any lipstick tonight, and she knows he noticed the moment she walked in.

She pauses to give her jaw a break, resting her head against the bulwark of his thigh. “You do have impeccable self-control.”

“I’ve had years to hone it on you, Miss Fisher.”

“When will you stop calling Miss Fisher and start calling me by my first name?” 

“Oh, I don’t know.” Jack looks down at her, his gaze darkening. “Get up and we’ll find out.”

*

“The number of times I’ve thought about having you on my desk,” he says.

Her cheek is pressed against the dark wooden surface of it. She can see, in minute details, the whorls and scratches, the rings of water stains, the fading marks of ink spilled and scrubbed out. Her hands flex uselessly.

“Waltzing in here and sitting on it like it was yours.” He runs a finger down the crease of her spine, circling the dimples in the small of her back. The conversational tone of his voice is driving her out of her mind. “The number of times I thought of parting those legs of yours and taking you where you sat.”

Through the door, she can hear the murmur of voices from the constables manning the station. If any of them were to come into his office now, they would see their Inspector bending the Honourable Miss Fisher over his desk. The thought of it curls, simmering, in the depths of her. Jack locked the door before they began. Or did he? Her thighs clench of their own accord.

“I want you in me,” she breathes. “Now.”

“You always did like to come into my office and order me around,” he says, but he obliges.

The intensity of it makes her jaw go slack. It’s only in the hitch of his breath and how preternaturally still he goes in her that she can tell how overcome he is. Then his hips snap into hers, and she bites back a cry.

It’s hard and fast, such a change-up from their slow circling that her body throbs with the shock of it. She can barely keep her balance; this position has her on the tips of her toes. It’s only his hand on her hip that anchors her through his thrusts, keeps her from sliding on his desk or toppling into an abyss. His other hand has reached between her legs, stroking swift and a little rough. “Phryne - ” he says hoarsely in her ear “ - Phryne - ” as she trembles on the edge, muffling a sob in the wood of his desk “ - Phryne - ” and she comes so hard she nearly blacks out from the force of it.

When she returns to herself, his face is buried in the crook of her neck. The ache in her wrists is beginning to advertise its presence, but she stops to kiss him first.

“There it is,” she says quietly.

*

Jack is gazing ruefully at his desk. “Penny for your thoughts,” says Phryne, fixing his tie for him.

“I’m just thinking about how I have to continue working at that desk for the foreseeable future.”

“Mm. I think I do enough for your closure rates that you can be allowed some other...lapses in productivity.”

He traces his thumb along the reddened marks on her wrists, his brow furrowing.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I brought gloves.”

“You’ll want to put something on that,” he says, raising one wrist to the light as if it is a piece of evidence.

“I’ll ask Dot if she has any creams.”

“Please,” says Jack with a shudder, “do not involve Mrs Collins.”

Phryne laughs, and stills as he brings her wrist to his lips and kisses the mark on it. Her breath comes short.

“We could - ”

“No,” says Jack decisively. “Put your gloves on, Miss Fisher, and spare a man.”

*

“ - and I appreciate you stopping by with your findings,” he says as he opens the door of his office for her. 

Her heels click over the threshold. The constables on duty glance up briefly, drawn to the colour of her, then return to their paperwork.

“Thank you for the consultation, Inspector.” 

“It’s no trouble, Miss Fisher.” Leaning against the doorframe, he watches her go. “Come again any time.”

  
  



End file.
